Charents: From the Leningrad Fragments

The spent northern sun sways Like a fireless crucible of ashes Over these square structures, This endless stretch of the past… Below, the dreary Neva yawns Drifting on with sulky debility – And the weary city of yore, Frozen in the mist like a mirage – Delirium of a genius drifted Ages ago into lethargic slumber, Who had lived with the glacial, tired blood of the past century… And in the age-old delusions Of the drowsy, indolent patient, Countles